An island stands mountainously,
a back drop for lookers on.
A monument to creation itself.

The reach lies in wait, silent, without disposition or expectation

-terribly still-
a mill pond calm
prevails grudgingly.
Distances vary as the lodes
of the living waters transit
change into ponds,
and then again
to rivers and streams,
deliberating their contiguous
routes to the sea of commonality.
Twins, Kindred, they be,
of the divine ways they have traveled,
the hapless spawn of intent bringing quieting,
rioting bluebells in spring, freshening, while
making inscribed, weathered highways of this world.
(though there are other worlds than this)
Long traveled, familiar, yet un-navigable

–is the reach-

it’s byways gone(un-mapped)in a nod of whispers(or a whisper of nods).
Traveling rivers of desire. Scaling the mountains of knowledge.
Afloat in a salty sea of truth. Sanctified by sanity.
Sanitized by sanctity. Gifted in absentia…

We journey from
shore to island,
from island to shore.

Love lies in the reach.

For so long as blue bells bloom
or mountain avens give birth
from the rocky, hallowed crags
of creations womb, then…

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i
saw
these
trees,
today.Again,
and,for the first time.
Magnetically flowing,
and charged,
was the face,
of our divinely,
unrepentant,
stoic kin,
reflected,
and represented,
in a picture of the grove.
These faces flowed gracefully
through the hair of our mother,
the forest, and stood stark,
resplendently, reverently…
Portrayed and captured
by a human device,
in the hands,of another mere mortal.
The first picture was feminine.
Lips below, seductive and tranquil,
Guiltlessly, Peacefully, Murmuring…Oh to hear such words as they spoke!
Blossoming and flowing gently,
from within the ancient realm,
of this most ancient wombs’,
perpetual dominion,
which is the
forest.Such were the eyes, alas, to look upon such eyes!
What fate would that be?
To meet the gaze of such eyes as these?
These eyes that flow through the ancient trees,
then disappear in a string of flowing boughs,
scant seconds before meeting the gaze…
The divine mystery directing a symphony,
with a truly divine back to the audience,
congregation-community.At the very edge,
of almost seeing into these eyes,

another face blossoms from the first.
Perhaps it is a perpetual portrait of divinity,
–sacred fractals molded into pixels–
being shown to mere mortal souls,
in flowing, scrolling,
sepia toned transience,
and black and white…
Brilliance.
Shown to be,were those faces,
one of Many.
No greater,
or less,
than any Other.
When they were
flowing together…When they were one.
Just the same,
were those faces
in the trees,
that I saw today.
In them i saw
an accepted,
transient,

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That beautiful state of drifting away…
unaware, unconcerned,
with the words that I say.
The feeling of wonder,
of beauty and grace,
as my spirit returns,
to that magical place.

Could I fight at it,
claw at it,
grasp it and flee?
I suppose that I could.
But then what would they be?

A bird that is caged,
never sings,
quite as sweet.
As one that flies aimlessly,
blessed and free.

If the words on the page,
darkling bold on stark white,
somehow fail to engage,
or the magic’s not right,
if they’re tattered and faded,
and bristling with fright,
it was I who invaded,
and locked them up tight.